


I feared

by gotham_ruaidh



Series: Gotham Writes for Imagine Claire & Jamie [82]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 08:02:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12979674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotham_ruaidh/pseuds/gotham_ruaidh
Summary: Imagine the morning after turtle soup (03x11)...





	I feared

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](https://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/168082682362/i-feared) on tumblr

Daylight knifed through Claire’s heavy eyelids.

The ship rolled – and so did her stomach – and she found the bucket helpfully left beside the berth, just in time.

Her arm and head throbbed in time with her racing heart.

When had they made it to the berth? The grain of the polished wood floor dug into the still-healing sores on her legs. Why hadn’t she treated them properly last night?

She looked up, blinking, squinting – saw her shift sprawled across the table at the center of the cabin.

Ah. Bloody Yi Tien Cho and his bloody delicious turtle soup…

The door burst open.

Twin shrieks – Claire Fraser in indignation, Marsali Fraser in surprise.

“What the bloody fucking hell do you want?” Claire croaked.

“Where are yer clothes?” Marsali demanded.

Claire crossed her arms – as best as she could – over her chest. “Over there – I’d be grateful if you could fetch them. Your…Jamie must have been in quite a hurry to leave them over there.”

Marsali tsked as she crossed the room, picking up Claire’s shift and sliding it over her shoulders. Feeling very much like a child, Claire huffed – but was thankful for the help getting back into the berth.

“You don’t happen to have any water, do you?”

Marsali drew a waterskin from her basket. “I do. Fresh – we found a spring back on the island. And some hardtack, from the kitchens. I let it soak in water first, just as ye showed me when we left Scotland.”

Claire awkwardly patted the empty space on the berth, and Marsali gratefully sank beside her, helping Claire drink from the waterskin, then crumble the hardtack into bite-sized pieces.

“Thank you,” she said after a while. Feeling slightly more human. “Thank you for looking in on me.”

She turned – slowly, carefully – to face the girl – woman! – beside her.

“Ye’re welcome,” Marsali replied carefully. “I – I’m happy to have ye back. Daddy was – weel. He wasna himself, wi’out ye here. Fergus and I tried to keep him straight – ”

Claire smiled. “Brave of you to try. But thank you. And I know I owe you an answer, from our chat last night – ”

“Dinna fash. Fergus – it was fine last night. We’ll be fine, until ye’re well enough.” Her eyes shone.

“But Marsali, even once can be enough – ”

Two raps at the door – then Yi Tien Cho’s gray head peered through.

“Honorable Wife – I have come to look at your arm.”

Claire sighed. Marsali quickly left the half-full waterskin and bowl of damp hardtack on the bunk and scurried out of the cabin. Yi Tien Cho carefully approached the berth, holding a green glass bottle and fresh bandages.

“May I?”

Claire nodded, pushing up the sleeve of her shift. He knelt before her, swiftly unwrapping the bandage on her arm to examine his eight neat stitches.

“How does it look?”

Yi Tien Cho lay a gentle hand at her elbow, and produced a bit of mirror from a deep pocket. “Can you see for yourself?”

Claire craned her neck – sure enough, he had positioned the mirror to perfectly show her the wound. It was inflamed a bit – that was to be expected. But no pus – no obvious sign of infection.

“I wash it again with the alcohol. A few more days until the stitches come out.”

She nodded. “I agree – thank you.”

He set down the mirror, uncorked the bottle, dampened a clean rag, and gently, gently dabbed at the wound.

She hissed – but held still.

“Thank you again for the wonderful soup last night,” she grimaced through clenched teeth. “It – it certainly took my mind off the pain.”

“I can make more, if you like – still have half the turtle in the kitchen.” He corked the bottle, folded the rag, and set both on the table in the middle of the cabin – so that she could tend to herself later, she realized, touched at his thoughtfulness.

“Thank you, but make sure the men get some. They deserve it, after all the hardships they’ve endured.” She sat back against the wall, folding her legs over the edge of the berth, hissing as the fabric chafed her sensitive skin.

Soft as a butterfly’s wings, Yi Tien Cho’s fingers skimmed over the still-healing sores below both of her knees. “You too have endured much hardship, Honorable Wife – for the sake of the man you love. You deserve more than anyone here.”

Tears suddenly welled – and she grabbed his hand, squeezing his fingers in silent thanks. He only met her eye for a brief moment – squeezed her fingers back – then stood, hands sliding to her wrists.

“Your pulse is too shallow. I make you a tea. And also a poultice for your legs. The damp air, it is not good for healing.”

She smiled, so thankful for this strange, generous, gentle man.

“Thank you. Thank you for looking after me. I know Jamie appreciates it.”

“And you stay here. In bed. I’ll find your husband, let him know you awake now.” He glowered at her, as much as was possible. “No walking. No going on deck. You stay.”

“I will. I’ll be careful.”

He nodded – and bowed – and padded out of the cabin.

The deck heaved once more, and Claire leaned her head back against the wood of the cabin wall, in pain and disoriented and yet strangely content.

As she had many times before, she turned inward. Taking stock of her body – from her toes, to her stinging shins, to the bruise forming on her thigh where she’d injected herself with penicillin, to the strained muscles in her back where Jamie had bent her over last night…

Jamie. Where the bloody hell was he? There were plenty of footsteps abovedeck, and shouts periodically filtered through the ceiling. Two days to Jamaica, Father Fogden had said. That would mean at least one more day and night before she had to rejoin humanity…

She didn’t realize she had dozed off until the bolt scraped firmly into the lock.

“Sassenach? Are ye awake?”

Her eyes flew open – her head full of sand – and she clutched the bucket for dear life.

Jamie flew across the cabin, setting down a bowl somewhere on the floor – bracing her back as her stomach heaved, careful of her injured arm.

“Ye didn’t react this way to the sea on the earlier part of our journey.”

She spit into the bucket, wiped the back of her mouth, and glared up at him. “That’s because I wasn’t bloody hung over, was I?”

Christ, he was so beautiful when he smiled.

“A rough night then, was it?”

She pushed the bucket away, and he swiftly lifted it to the floor, settling on the berth beside her. His hands sought and found hers, big thumbs caressing her knuckles.

“I haven’t been this hung over since the day we married.”

“And such a bonny day it was, too.” He kissed her cheek, then pulled back, twining his fingers through hers.

A long moment passed.

“Yer skin feels cooler this morning. I – I dinna mind stabbing ye wi’ the…penicillin if ye need.”

“Yes, I do feel much better. But I shouldn’t need another dose – I’ll see how I’m doing tonight.” She paused. “Why couldn’t you do it, Jamie? I’ve seen you do so many things, but – ”

“Because I ken it hurts like the devil, and…weel. I couldna hurt ye, Claire.”

Her brow rose skeptically. “Even when you know that it would help me be well?”

He pursed his lips. “I – I could never stand it, knowing I caused ye pain. And especially no’ after everything we’ve endured, these past weeks.” One hand gently cradled her cheek, forcing her eyes to meet his. “God, Claire – I was so afraid…”

She shifted closer, melting against him.

“I was on the island for two days…all alone…terrified I’d never see you again. Or that I’d be too late, and have to bury you…”

“No!” he whispered urgently against her temple. “No, Claire – I would *never* do that to ye. Never.”

She clutched the front of his shirt with her good hand, anchoring herself to him. “Can you stay here, today? With me?”

He kissed her forehead. “Aye. I came upon Willoughby on my way here – he asked me to help ye wi’ a paste for yer legs.”

She shifted back, throwing her legs over his lap. Jamie brought her shift above her knees, and cursed at the welts.

“How did I no’ see these yesterday? What the hell happened to ye, Claire?”

“Ants. Lots of them. And it’s better than a few days ago – Mamacita had quite the healing touch.”

Jamie reached for the clay bowl on the table, setting it on the berth and taking a scoop with the tips of his fingers.

He sniffed skeptically. “Smells like…garlic and honey?”

Claire purred with pleasure as the mixture cooled her aching skin.

“That’s exactly what I would have done. Both are excellent at preventing itching and inflammation. Did he provide fresh bandages as well?”

“Aye – I suppose I wrap you all up once I’m done?”

“That would be lovely.”

Gently he massaged her legs, rubbing the mixture in a soothing clockwise motion.

Claire enjoyed the simple pleasure of his touch – and watching him at close proximity.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, after a long while. “I – ye shouldna have had to endure this.”

She ruffled his hair. “I chose to.”

He sighed, wiping his hands on a rag before wrapping the fresh bandages on her legs. “I ken that. But it doesna mean that I canna wish things had been different.”

“I love you.”

He stopped then – looked up, and met her eyes. Quickly – but no less gently – he wrapped her other leg, then gathered her battered body to his chest. Cradling her. Shielding her from the world.

“Do ye remember the first time I held ye like this?” His voice was low – deep. Thick with feeling.

She nodded, sucking on his neck. “I had just finished doctoring you. At Leoch.”

He swallowed. She dug her nails into the base of his skull.

“That’s the moment I fell in love wi’ ye, Claire. That – that feeling to love, to cherish. To want. To protect. It’s never changed. Never gone away. Not once.”

Now she used her teeth on the long, stubbly column of his throat.

“I canna live wi’out ye. I won’t – ”

“You won’t have to,” she breathed. “Not ever.”

She tilted her chin, and he kissed her, framing her sunburned face in his work-roughened hands.

Then he tugged the shift over her shoulders, and stood so that she could watch him slowly shuck his shirt and breeches and boots. Nestling skin on skin, Claire lying against the wall on her left side, Jamie facing her, his back to the cabin and his legs carefully wound through hers, they shared breath and wine and space. Fortifying themselves in each other. Making time stop.


End file.
